Shock
by Sara Darkotter
Summary: Harry Potter was dead, dead at Malfoy Manor. Weasel, too. And Draco was running, pulling along a shocked Hermione Granger, glass in his shoulder from the window he fell through.
1. Chapter 1

My first story written for a competition! 2012 Hogwarts Games, Freestyle Swimming.

My problem is that I usually write stuff that's upward of 2300 words, and I chose the 1000-2000 category... Let's hope I did well.

* * *

They were running, Hermione, him. The ground flew under their feet in the darkness, luck preventing trips and falls and accidents as the forest closed around them. Draco didn't have a clue what they were doing or where they were going, just away. His arm burned in his Lord's last-ditch effort to remind him that he was a coward, he wasn't supposed to do brave, stupid things like this, but just once it didn't work.

Draco heard Hermione sob and for a second stretched out a swinging hand in a gentle touch as he could manage. Almost to the edge of the wards.

_Bellatrix was demanding something, an object, in her vault, how had they gotten it? Hermione's reply was swallowed in another scream._

He could feel the wards left behind, a strange, buzzing feeling over the skin, just as the burn in his left arm went away. Now they could apparate, now they were safer. He reached out, grabbed Hermione's shoulder and pulled her to the ground as she let out a harsh scream. He collapsed next to her, holding them both against the steady roots of a tree.

"It's-it's okay, Granger," he managed to whisper into her hair. It had lost its strange bushiness, weighed with dirt and grease, some of its curls merely consigned to time. He let one hand knot in her hair and held her head to his chest, needing to grip something to anchor himself.

Why had he done this? What stupid idea had lodged itself in the corner of his brain and made this seem okay? He had jinxed Bellatrix, run out on Voldemort, destroyed a window of the manor with his shoulder.

_There was Potter, there was Weasel, trying to get to Granger, idiots! They were going to-_

_Die..._

_Weasel hit the floor with a thump, Potter folded in half and fell forward._

Just thinking about his shoulder made it ache. His free hand curled around his still-sobbing burden, reaching around to touch the pain, and finger the edge of a shard of glass he'd fallen on. He had barely noticed it before, making sure Hermione didn't throw herself back inside and pulling them both across the wide grounds and over a wall. Now, screams of pain choked in his throat, and usually he'd let them out, anything to get something done about it, but anything for miles could find them. Kill them. Fenrir could be hunting these woods right now...

Hermione's sobs became louder, more piercing, even while she tried to muffle them in his chest. In the gloom, he peered down, one of her half-curled fists catching on his other shoulder. There was something on her wrist, blood, dark and sticky.

Draco stopped curiously causing himself pain trying to remove the shard and turned his attention to her wrist, feeling like a young child, so blank. His thoughts were strangely unorganized and he couldn't pull himself together enough to even care, never mind clean up his mind.

Hand curling around her wrist, her sharp gasp and choking sob, he wiped some of the blood away and found himself faced with letters.

Rough characters, done with the point of a knife, victim had struggled. The facts marked down automatically.

O-O-D

Words ending like that, the first one that came to mind was blood. He swallowed, ignoring her scream as he continued, the clotting and thickening blood sticking to his fingers.

M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D

Something sour gathered in his throat. That word suddenly seemed so... He looked at his fingers, then at his shoulder, the stains were the same color.

The numbness suddenly broke, but there was no tears, no sudden epiphany about that insult, nothing. Only a confirmation of something he'd known distantly for years.

No, what he suddenly realized was that Harry Potter had folded over a knife, red spreading fast over his stomach. Blood. Potty, Pothead, Scarhead, Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, the Chosen One. Dead. There was no one. No one would kill Voldemort. Voldemort had cast his Killing Curse so fast he'd almost misaimed and even if he had... Aunt Bellatrix's knife.

Maybe he should have been wondering what Voldemort had been doing in that room, who had called him, but he didn't. There was no point. No point in examining the events up to that moment, all that mattered was that there was no hope.

Hermione had settled for whimpering. She was clinging to his chest, whispering the names of her two friends with little sounds of pain in-between and Draco suddenly realized he'd knotted his hand so tightly he was nearly pulling her hair out. He tried to persuade his fingers to let go, loosen. They seemed frozen into claws. Shakily, his other hand pried his fingertips loose one by one. She let out a gasp, panting for air as if she had suddenly come up for air in a lake.

"Wh-Malfoy? Why-what-" She buried herself against him again like this was all a bad dream. The pain in his shoulder began to sharpen. "Why does it hurt?" she whispered.

No words came to mind, no snarky replies or comforting whispers, nothing. He gripped her wrist as gently as he could and tried to remember all the actions to a healing spell. He was sure he missed a loop or a turn, but those horrid bleeding cuts sealed themselves, became scars.

She stared at the letters blankly.

The staring was better than sobbing, quieter, at least. He bit down on his back teeth, eyes narrowed, and lightly curled his fingers around the shard.

Then he tightened his grip and yanked, hard.

The shard came free, his first response was to shriek, and to his surprise, Hermione slapped her hands over his mouth. They stared into each other's eyes.

There was no spark, no sudden burst of love, there wasn't a sudden discovering that he'd loved her forever, nothing of a cliché from a novel. But there was the realization that they were both depending on each other now, even if they didn't want to.

She took his wand from his grip and healed his shoulder. Self-healing was never a good idea, and rarely safe.

"We shouldn't apparate, should we?" she said, staring at her hands. He shook his head. His voice was still missing.

"But we can't stay here."

He gave a look. A twinge of reflex made him scathingly wonder if she always had to state the obvious.

She stood up shakily, and Draco had to quickly follow, hands on her shoulders, to keep her upright. She was apparently cycling through periods of sense and shock.

He coughed to clear his throat. "This way... Hermione."

Her name tasted strange and yet clear on his tongue while he led her deeper into the woods around the manor. But, at least, it was something to focus on, something that wasn't the fact that someone had never depended on him before.

H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E

* * *

If you made it all the way down here, congratulations! And thanks. Once the contest is over, I'm probably going to expand this to a two or three-shot to make it fulfill my Dramione needs.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, this part of the contest is over. No idea if I placed yet. Here is a slightly-less-beta'd-than-the-first second part.

It may actually be a four-shot, in which case I should call it a quartet.

* * *

They were jogging today, Draco leading, watching the sun. It splashed upon the ground in pools and puddles, lighting on the yet lifeless ground, the world bright.

Hermione was in shock again. Day three, wandering nowhere, they had finally apparated out of the Manor woods last night and come here. Hermione had said their stuff was still out here, a tent and supplies.

But now, she was repeating her friends names in an endless loop of wasted breath, not trying to keep up, tripping on things hidden under the leaves from years past. Draco kept having to go back and pick her up.

It was downright disturbing, to see her like this, helpless. She was the brightest witch of the age, she was sensible, she should know that this constant shock-cycle would do her no good.

There was a thud behind him, a rustle. He turned, walked back the few feet to her still body, sliding his hands under her arms. Her breathing fluttered in a panic as he heaved her up.

She collapsed against him and sobbed.

Draco would have sighed, but there was no point, and there was no point in speaking, either. His chin rested on her head, hands on her shoulders, and he waited for her balance to catch.

"Ron... Harry... Ron... Where are you... Harry... Ron... Harry..." Tears sliding down her face, the little tracks they followed worn in place. It was almost like each one was the name she called, a memory relived vividly before grief whisked it away from her.

Feeling just a little bit curious, he reached out a finger, catching a single teardrop on its end and inspecting it. It was clear. He wiped it away on his clothes.

She finally shrieked and shoved him away. Draco took two steps back, turned around, and kept walking while she struggled up from what she'd been remembering, clawing at the pale scars on her arm as she stumbled along. Another short, swiftly cutoff shriek as she blundered into a briar patch growing up and onto a tree. When her footsteps didn't resume, Draco turned around, slowly.

Yes, she was caught, and panicking, judging by the quick movement of her chest. She was struggling, becoming more entangled. Draco jogged back, fingertips gently gripping the joint of her shoulder. He hadn't said a word to her since they began wandering the woods around the manor. It wasn't that there wasn't need for words or that he wasn't sure what to say, he had plenty of things he wanted to say. _"Stop crying already! You're in a war, someone has to die!" _was a very popular contender, probably ending it with a phrase about being the brightest witch of the age in hopes those words would do something.

But it felt like-irrationally, he knew-that if he spoke, he'd go back to being the boy he'd been seven years ago who hadn't really thought about what the word mudblood meant, or he'd go back to being a low-ranked Death Eater in the grips of the Dark Lord. So he stayed silent. She didn't require words anyway.

Hermione stilled, and Draco slowly began pulling the briars free, untangling them from her hair and picking the tugged-free strands off, sliding the thorned brambles so they unhooked from her clothes. A few had scratched her skin.

He couldn't walk ahead now. If anyone came across them, she'd be an easy target. So he held a shoulder gently and began to guide her, matching her slow pace, eyes fixed ahead. She sniffled a thank-you. He gave a sharp nod in response.

They walked in silence for a while, she managed to grasp at sense and point them more towards this mysterious tent. Draco noticed that despite the fact she'd obviously been showerless for a while, there was remnants of a perfume-like smell sticking to her.

What an odd thing to notice.

Unfortunately, when the silence ended, it was because she began to talk. Endlessly, with only short pauses for breath, about Potter and Weasel-Draco supposed that if he was dead he should be calling him Weasley now-and things they'd gotten up to, and if no one found them, Draco decided that he would join whatever religion held this benevolent god of the forest.

"And then, and then-" hysterical laughter. Draco slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. It muffled the shriek that followed.

This was probably a bad idea, but he feared for her sanity if she stayed conscious any longer. He stunned her, hefting her over one shoulder. Either she was light or he had something resembling strength. Right now, Draco wasn't inclined to believe the latter, though his ego wished otherwise.

Really, the woods weren't so bad when you didn't have to look out for someone. Draco kept his ears sharp and his paranoia awake, but otherwise, his mind dawdled, first playing among the leaves then dashing through the bushes, little bits of this and that slipping by.

So peaceful. Of course the first thing Hermione did when she came around was scream. Loudly.

In his ear.

He gave her a sullen glare as she stuttered an apology, almost regretting saving her, but that arm, the scars... A reminder that six months from now, she could be the only muggleborn left in the United Kingdom. With Potter dead, who would stop Voldemort from moving ahead with his plans? ALL of them?

And once those plans were completed, who would die next?

He slowly let her down, lips pressed into a thin line, the sunshine suddenly becoming unwelcoming. Anyone could see them standing here...

She clung to his arm as she looked around, eyes searching for-

"There! We're close!"

He looked around and caught signs of old footprints, and as she excitedly dragged him along, signs of struggling, and then-

Merlin, it really was a tent. It was half-collapsed and there was a shattered chair lying in front of it, but there wasn't a sound from within and didn't look like it had been touched in a few days.

She nearly ran in. He held her back, circling the little structure, wand pointed at it and seeking out life.

Nothing. Unless that rat... His head slipped into the opening to peer around at the wrecked room. A small black rat digging through old bread. No, nothing magical about it. It squeaked and scampered out past Draco's foot.

He stepped in. Wreck. The room was a wreck. Chairs upturned and the table had a broken leg and food was scattered over the canvas floor, a tent wall collapsed over the shape of the beds, which were obligingly half-shrunken, the radio was broken. Behind him, Hermione crumpled to the ground with a sob.

She'd been holding out hope, hadn't she? Holding onto an impossible idea that if she found the tent her friends would be here, sitting around and playing Wizard's chess, _Hey Hermione, why so down? You didn't actually think they'd killed us?_

He began to pick up the food, checking to see if any of it had been spoiled. A lot of it, oddly, was muggle, dried things with strange packaging, and had been barely touched, all lightweight. He put it up and then pulled out his wand, repairing the table and setting the chairs right and a quick spell blowing the dirt outside. He walked around her, still crying on the ground, and slipped outside, mentally pulling up a list of charms that could protect them. He went down the list, casting all of them, even the illegal ones, and then propped up the fallen part of the tent, straightening it.

She looked up with so much hope when he stepped in, for a second he wished he was whoever she was expecting. Instead, he picked up the pieces of the radio and set them on the table. He'd repaired a Vanishing Cabinet, a radio was much easier

_Fenrir Greyback, climbing out, licking his teeth, a sore. Aunt Bellatrix, eyes bright with insanity._

Draco's stomach lurched for a moment. Aunt Bella would probably kill him if she saw him again. She didn't often miss.

He arranged all the little pieces, linking them together. It was like a children's puzzle to Draco, sliding rods and wires and magical connections into their spots, fixing the cracks in the casing. He turned it on.

Static. He twisted the knob, and there was a snatch of a Celestina Warbeck song. Draco turned the knob quickly, anything to leave that horrid singer behind...

Hermione slapped his hands away, desperately tuning to a channel of nothing, whispering words to the radio.

"Mad-Eye, come on!"

Nothing.

She began repeating names, and then when she said, "Ronald,"

A voice came over the airwaves.

"-And welcome to another episode of _Potterwatch._"

His voice was shaking. It was also a bit familiar.

"Our regular contributors, Royal and Romulus, are here with me today. Royal, would you like to deliver the news?"

"Thank you, River." The man's deep voice was solemn. "It has been confirmed that Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. It is also confirmed that Harry and Ronald were hit with the Killing Curse in an attempt to rescue Hermione from Bellatrix Lestrange."

There was a pause. Hermione sobbed. Draco felt something icy slide down his insides. He was being irrational himself, being shocked. He gathered that ice-feeling and packed it away in the back of his mind.

"However, several other captives in the manor have been saved, including the Lovegoods, Dean Thomas, and-"

Hermione's loud sob blocked out the name. He settled a hand on her shoulder, staring at the radio.

"Their rescuer, Dobby the house-elf, was unfortunately killed as well."

"Thank you, Royal. Before we continue this special addition of _Potterwatch, _let's have a moment of silence, for Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Dobby the elf," River said.

And there was, cut only by Hermione's gasps for air. Draco pulled her chair close, putting both his arms around her and pressing her gently against his chest. She couldn't even cry now, no more tears sliding away, but she was going through the motions anyway. He summoned a cup from the counter, inspected it and filled it with water. He didn't hand it to her, he held it to her lips.

She continued to cry and began to drinking, gasping and choking. He patted her back, setting the cup down.

"Thank you," River said in a thick voice. "N-Now..."

"There, River. I-I'll... Hello again, it's Romulus. You'll notice Hermione Granger's name is not on the list."

Draco knew that voice. Remus Lupin! He hugged Hermione tighter, remembering that strange Professor. Draco had been rather rude to him third year, but there was no denying that he had been an amazing teacher.

"Now, this is rather odd, but we ask your willing suspension of belief to follow through. Hermione was saved by Draco Malfoy-pause for gasp-when Harry and Ron were killed. Ad-lib reassure and j-oh, those are your notes."

Draco, against his will, smiled.

"Alright. Now, again, we know this is hard to believe, but there have been several witnesses to this spectacular event, in which Lestrange was given blue hair and lost part of her ear. Malfoy and Hermione are on the run. If you see them, please, we would all love some good news now the war had hit this dark turn. But do not give up hope! We will get through this!"

"Thank you, Romulus."

"It's alright, River."

"Now. The rumor mill is just starting to churn following these tragic events, and _Daily Prophet _and _Wizarding Wireless Network News_ are encouraging it. Wondering if a rumor is true? Ask around, it'll get back to one of us eventually, and we'll confirm or deny it as they come.

"For our first rumor, we are not changing our name to _Grangerwatch. _In the spirit of good faith, it will remain. Especially since Malfoy means 'bad faith' in French, we don't want to contaminate our faith with her traveling companion."

"Hey," Draco managed to growl out. Several words came to mind to follow that short proclamation, and all of them were startlingly unprintable.

He didn't become a kid and he wasn't suddenly back in the manor. Hermione jumped a little, but then she rolled her eyes, finishing the water.

"No offense to Malfoy if you're somehow listening. Don't shout those words at the radio."

Draco gaped at the radio for a moment. Hermione reached over and shut his mouth gently. "We went to school with him," she said, almost oddly lucid.

"-For today. Our next password is 'Bagshot'. Keep each other safe, keep your family close, keep faith."

The radio went quiet. He realized he was sitting closer to Hermione than was alright by any accounts and let her go, scooting away.

"What were you three doing out here?"

She began to explain, playing with the cup.

Horcruxes.

* * *

Blue hair. I'm not.. Really what to think about that... Eh. Weird jinx, maybe? Combination of jinxes? Maybe a stunner and a cutting spell means blue hair?

Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to Readerjk for catching that I'd left this up as complete XD Whoops...

And thank you so much to Aenaris who looked this over and tore this little puppy apart to make sure Hermione and Draco stayed in-character. I love you :)

Edit: I had a sentence and a half sentence where Draco squished all his thoughts together without spaces. FF deleted it. I put it back in italics. Just run it all together in your head.

* * *

Draco, as the last of the firewhiskey wore off, nearly screamed. His buzz of liquid courage had faded and he was now riding a blind dragon that had been stolen from Gringotts and holding onto a dented cup while Hermione tossed her head back in a whoop.

If she wasn't a Gryffindor, he would have wondered if she'd been drinking too.

He looked down. They passed beautiful scenery, forest and mountains and fields, all those blending shades of green and brown, and it was wonderful-

But it was still far too high up on something Draco couldn't control. One arm clung tighter around Hermione, knuckles a pale white as they gripped the burning cup harder, the other flat against the dragon's cold skin. Hermione tossed her head back and yelled in his ear, "What's wrong? _Scared?_"

He nodded as quickly as he dared, staring straight ahead. His pride was in hiding, there was nothing to keep it here since somewhere in the years since first-year, Hermione had apparently stopped being scared of flying. Or heights, or whatever it was that had made her look green at the sight of a broom.

A strand of straight brown hair blew into his eyes. Right. That. To break into Gringotts, Draco had his hair dyed, worn some of Potter's old clothes and pretended to be-Good grief, the entire thing had been ridiculous! He wasn't sure who he pretended to be, just someone unimportant, and Hermione had followed with the cloak and then they'd _imperio'd_ the goblin to get him to take them to the required vault and had to redo it when they passed through that stupid thieves trap, and he remembered being vaguely grateful it had been dye not polyjuice so he'd be less recognizable...

And what the hell, they'd broken into his aunt's vault.

Though, it had been right next to his family's and since they hadn't readjusted those spells yet, (He'd triple-checked in the time they had) he'd raided it, so they now had money. Maybe they might even come up with a use for it.

They had broken into his aunt's vault! What the hell! And they were alive!

"Sober now?" she shouted.

"No thanks to you!" He closed his eyes. Several weeks spent in her fair company and planning to get this mysterious horcrux in Bellatrix's vault had culminated with her getting him buzzed so he'd do more than cling to the bunk and yell his denial to be a part of the ordeal. But, since of the two he had the only information on the bank, he'd had to. She hadn't looked pleased when he'd yelled it would take nothing less than Ogden's Finest to get him anywhere near that vault, but somehow, she had found it.

He wanted that bottle back.

She was grinning at him. Grinning was okay. Grinning wasn't sobbing, which she'd probably been doing earlier. She pried the cup from his fingers, (She took the little magic money-pouch off his wrist too) somehow not terrified she would fall off without three limbs on the beast and put it in her purse.

Both hands now empty, he put it flat down on a jagged scale and screamed. He would have lied to himself and said it wasn't a little-girl scream, (Or that it wasn't a scream at all. Malfoys didn't scream in terror, it was beneath them) but he was too busy inhaling for another go, possibly with some blubbering for his mother. Because this thing could turn over at any moment and there was nothing to hold onto and _oh Merlin when was the last time it ate._

He didn't look edible, did he? Oh, he really hoped not, he was scrawny and cowardly hadn't had a bath three weeks. He didn't want to be named after something who thought that sounded good.

Then he clung closer to its skin, and therefore to Hermione. Eyes closed, he could smell again those faint shreds of her perfume before the breeze whisked it away and the heat from the burns on their skin. It was almost calming, almost peaceful, almost beautiful. His mind wandered. Little threads of memories and quickly self-filed questions, things he wondered vaguely about at the moment but wasn't going to get an answer to.

How was Mother?

Was the Manor intact?

When would he get to eat something other than Muggle instant noodles again?

Where had Hermione bought so many of them anyway?

Why did he stop calling her Granger?

That question was about six weeks too late. He knew when-the night they escaped. But why...

He pressed a little closer to her back.

She made a sound of some sort, whisked away by the wind. He realized just how close they were, especially painful with their burns, inching back the little he dared.

Oh. Look, they were descending.

_Oh fuck they were descending it was going to eat them!_

Unless they drowned first. Staring down at the mountain lake to which they were spiraling, he whimpered. The wind ripped the sound from his throat. Okay. Think rationally. He boxed as much of his fear and cowardice away as he could managed. Think. Rationally. He could swim. If it dove, he could swim away and maybe there would be fish in the lake to distract it. If it didn't dive-no, he was too terrified to jump. If it didn't dive he'd hold on until it landed and ate him.

It was so low they could see the reflection of the dragon's yellowish belly covering the water. And it's talons and if Draco looked far enough ahead a glimpse of teeth...

"Now!"

Hermione dragged them both overboard. He almost screamed. They hit the water, hard, sinking into cold and green and reeds. He swam, taking a deep breath when he hit the surface and looking around. Hermione, Hermione, there she was! They kicked and paddled their way to the shore. He sat down in the shallows, taking Hermione's handbag and digging his wand out of the depths.

Ow, fucking third-degree burn on his hand!

But he ducked his head in the water, scrubbing his hair and applying magic. A layer of brown dye floated away on the water like dirt. Draco made a face, quickly splashing the water to send it farther away before feeling Hermione's gaze. He knew what it would be. That raised eyebrow and mouth set in a firm line, an 'ahem' waiting in the back of her throat. He vanished the dye, rather than face the wrath of the environmentalist onshore. Squinting at his reflection in the icy water, he noticed that it had grown several inches in the time since he'd been out here.

Apparently the key to hair-length was forced camping. He smoothed his hair back like he had done when he was younger.

It made him look like his father in just the wrong ways. He shook his head wildly, displacing the style. That was exactly why he had cut it.

"Feeling vain, Draco?"

"Not in the slightest, Greasy." He twisted at the waist, grabbed her arms and pulled her into the water, taking her purse. "Let's see... _Accio_ shampoo." A bottle flew into his hand. "Well, well, well, Granger! What do you know?" Please, please use it. Bed-placement meant he had to stare at the top of that head every night...

She sighed. "Draco! That won't be good for the lake-"

"Are you the brightest witch of the age or the environmentalist muggle? Vanishing spells." He ducked her head in the water when she looked about to reply. When she came up for air, he handed her the bottle. "Just because we're in the woods doesn't mean we have to collect dirt. I never have and never will make a hobby of uncleanliness."

She shooed him back. "Alright, I'll wash my hair! Calm down, you vain prick!"

A gentler insult, she had never directed his way. She'd taken up commenting on his vanity recently, despite the fact that he had mostly left that behind in sixth-year. There had been no point.

"It's basic hygiene, Granger, not vanity. Or-" He clamped down on the comment before it escaped, something about muggles not teaching their children to take regular baths and stench. After these sorts of tense situations, when they started to relax, he did that. A sort of reversion to what had been normal to cut the fear in the air, and it just didn't work. He didn't want another day where she didn't speak to him or glared for hours because of a racist slip of the tongue.

He lay down on the shore, ears sharp and listening while he watched the darkness overtake the sky. The last tint of sun faded from the clouds, leaving them as grey floating in midnight black and stars. He outlined constellations in his mind, the tales that went with them.

"You started calling me Granger again." Her face loomed over his, hair clean and dry. It was nowhere near as bushy as it had once been, now curls, frizzy. He wondered what had happened. He missed that, as much as he had once thought her hair could attack things of its own free will and be used as a hiding space for spare quills.

"Well it's your name too, isn't it?" He started to sit up, realized he could very well end up colliding with her face and lay back with a strange warmth in the pit of his stomach.

"I liked when you called me Hermione."

He blinked. He couldn't quite get what the difference was. Alright, so Granger wasn't quite as close as Hermione, and spoke of only acquaintance, but her voice had those soft tones of sadness, like it really hurt her. Draco often switched around with names of people he knew well. Sometimes it was an insult, usually it was just something he did.

"I-" She blushed, splotches of dark on her cheeks and forehead, and her face moved elsewhere, the sound of her moving a little farther down the bank. His expression fell of its own accord. "I like how you say it."

His mouth opened, vocal cords already working, and then he realized he didn't have a response. Not witty or mean or kind or anything, he was blank. Not even sounds of question.

The silence was filled by the far-off dragon for several minutes.

"We should go back to the tent."

"Y-yeah," Draco said, only just noticing the moon was out.

"Figure out how to destroy this thing without the sword."

"Yeah."

They stood up, stared at each other, the thought of touching her to side-along feeling tabooed. They lingered and she grabbed his arm quickly, immediately pulling them into an apparation. His body was squeezed and they were standing just outside the barriers for the tent. There was some automatic checking, eyes searching the dark for blurry shapes of others and ears straining, then Hermione moved her hands in a few complicated motions, allowing them through the wards.

Draco would have felt proud she was getting so good at wandless magic, but the air was still filled with a strange tenseness, one he couldn't quite figure out, and words were clambering to be said and destroy it. He didn't trust those words.

She closed the wards and they stepped into the tent, individually realizing burns, but neither asking the other for help. Draco healed himself and sat on his bunk, studying the pink skin.

His first night in the tent, he had rearranged the beds. They were placed in a corner, the head of one pressing against the side of another. It meant they couldn't be individually surrounded, and (As later became its use) to have no distance to cross when Hermione woke at three every morning with a nightmare. He slept in the second bunk and got a view of the top of her head every night and canvas wall the other.

And the rise of her breasts, but on a girl as small as Hermione, that wasn't very interesting when she was lying down. They flattened.

Hey, he was stuck out in the woods without even a Playwizard magazine for female company. It wasn't his fault if Hermione showed a bit of appeal after a while.

Draco shook his head as uncomfortable thoughts slid from their allocated spots, thickening the air in the room. Staring down at his damp clothes, he sorted through the pile of things that had belonged to Potter. He and Potter, as it turned out, were right about the same size in clothes, when the trousers and jeans were adjusted for Draco's longer legs. It felt odd to be using a dead man's belongings, (He had specifically switched the mattress that had been in the bunk for the unused one for that purpose) especially those of his school enemy, but it wasn't worth the time, effort, or money to buy Draco any of his own.

He started peeling off his shirt, got it most of the way off, and looked up.

Hermione was sitting on her bunk, eyes wide, irises only a thin ring of color in her eyes. She was extremely focused on him, and the way about it...

The tent felt much smaller than usual. As blood obediently moved south, he managed to note that yes, he was feeling aroused over Hermione-bloody-Granger and file it away to think over at a time when the movement of her chest wasn't much more interesting.

She was wearing a wet shirt. He could see her bra, or at least the outline of it and a hint of grey coloring. It had her disappointingly well-covered, but was strangely fascinating.

He swallowed, licked his lips, swallowed again as saliva flooded his mouth. This time his mouth stayed dry.

"Draco," she said, eyes drifting down, lashes fluttering. Her voice was almost a moan.

He finished peeling off his shirt, painstakingly slowly.

"I... Say no... Tell me no... Now is not..."

He had to spend several seconds getting together the intelligence to nod, watching her hands. One was slightly clenched right in between her breasts like she didn't know what to do with it and dammit he just wanted it to move, see it slide or grab or something. He took a deep breath. "No," he said in a husky whisper. The word affected him too, tugging him a little closer to reality. "Not now... Finish the mission first..."

They came down to sexless reality. Hermione turned pink and put her face in her hands.

"Perhaps... You should go outside for a few minutes," Draco suggested, studying his feet.

A quiet sound from her mattress as she stood. His eyes traced her steps, her calves, to the entrance.

"But Hermione," he called, pausing her. "We will finish this."

She flushed all the way down to the neckline of her shirt.

Draco snickered and quickly changed, switching spots with her so she could get into something clean as well. He couldn't help but brush against her as she came in. Again that flush. He liked that flush. It was uneven and the color started out blotchy but it was very Hermione and it was a good shade.

Sadly, they settled back to awkward once she had finished, the adrenaline rush of realizing attraction gone. They couldn't even stand next to each other long enough to fix those instant noodles and add whatever odd thing got dug up to eat.

Not that Draco was hungry anyway. He switched on the radio, whispering "Xenophillius" as he slowly tuned the knobs, looking for today's channel. For once, it wasn't a dead person's name.

"-and welcome to _Potterwatch!_"

River was upbeat today, much cheerier than he'd sounded since Draco first started listening. River's voice reminded him of Quidditch, so he had long figured River had been an announcer during a school game, but he hadn't tried to figure out who. He listened to the names of the dead, bowed his head for the moment of silence, and then grinned fiercely.

"Hermione and Malfoy have been seen, riding a dragon out of Gringotts!"

The report carried on, and just the sound of the wizards on the other side, voices lined with their fragile hope, was enough to brighten the air itself.

And make it smell of tea as Hermione spat a mouthful across the table at the obligatory Draco/dragon/riding joke. Draco restrained his eyebrows from wiggling. But apparently she knew he wanted to and glared at him like he told River to make that joke.

"And we have a guest tonight, a relation-and that's all we're saying, since he's got so many-of Draco. Let's welcome Starwise. How are you?"

"As well as I can be." The woman's voice was firm, clear, strong, beautiful, lightly aged. And vaguely familiar. It reminded Draco of his mother.

"You are one of the few who stands firmly by the statement that Draco has switched sides, care to explain why?"

"People like to say, that because of his family, his background, he would never switch sides, that he could never be good. They're wrong. I know that because of those things, making this decision would have been hard for him, if not because of a complete uprooting of his beliefs, then because he would have to leave his family behind. Draco is not a spy, he's too all-or-nothing, too devoted to his parents to risk them like that. And I believe in him."

"In school, he was well-known for expounding on the Death Eaters, and he seemed very taken with them."

"Listening to how he behaved after he came one leads me to believe he became disillusioned with the lifestyle very quickly. But could you blame him? His entire purpose in being one was to make up for his father's mistake, and it's a wonder You-Know-Who didn't kill him."

"If he was listening right now, what would you say?"

"I wouldn't say be courageous, he's still a Slytherin. I'd say find strength in cunning, hope in ambition and grip light firmly with both hands, because he's made the right choice no matter how difficult it may seem in the coming months."

"Words for all of us, Starwise. Thank you."

"Thank you too, River."

Draco let Hermione listen to the rest of the program, marking down Starwise's words.

He signed them Andromeda Tonks. He had only met his aunt once, when he was really young, and he'd been as rude to her as he was to all blood traitors, but she had seemed the mark of a perfect Slytherin. Starwise was a good name to hide her behind while still telling a bit about her. It made her sound like a centaur or astronomer or seer. But really, it had to be split into two words. Star, wise. A person who is a star but is wise, therefore older. Star meant she was a Black, since she was a relation of Draco.

And anyone who was "star-wise" knew that Andromeda...

Was a galaxy.

He wasn't the only Slytherin on this side of the war. A loneliness Draco hadn't noticed vanished. He sat down on his bunk, smiling slightly, and lay back, arms behind his head.

He went through his process of winding down for the night, thinking of the day's events, filing the moments away. Draco was a naturally organized person. That was not to say his room had been clean, it just had been organized in a way that made sense to his mind. He sorted things and labeled things and this helped him control emotions and understand things and draw connections. Little mental filing cabinets and chalkboards.

He came to that name-problem. Focusing on it, it came to him very quickly. Of course she didn't want to be called Granger. Hermione and Granger were two completely different people. Granger was the Gryffindor muggleborn girl with the hair bushy enough to deny gravity that knew all the bloody answers all the time and practically kept her hand in the air the entire class and was so Merlin-damned annoying he couldn't stand it. Hermione was the young witch almost too brave for her own good who woke up every night over his aunt and yet trusted him enough to let him touch her, hold her and admitted there was and would always be things she would never understand and who was gaining enough of a snake influence to make her more than tolerable and yet also left her ancient runes translations right where Draco didn't want them to be.

He liked Hermione much more than Granger.

She was a much more pleasant thought to fall asleep to.

* * *

Yaaay, Andromeda. I like her. She always got such a bad lot in the books, losing her husband, daughter and son-in-law when she didn't have any other family to turn to...

Reviews, be welcome. Now I have to go figure out just how long this damn thing is trying to be...


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter just comes off kinda odd for me, and I'm not sure how to fix it, so if anyone has suggestions, hand them over. Rip this chapter apart. I will put them into effect as soon as I find your review/PM.

Anyway...

* * *

Draco had missed this forest, this mountain. He'd missed the trails and the caves and the scattering of happy memories that had once been his of this place. He'd missed the trees, though they had seemed so much taller, and the many little streams that fed the Black Lake.

Not that Draco would admit this. Currently, their favorite way of relieving the ever-growing tension was to snap insults and tease each other until they were either laughing or angry. She'd probably starting cooing about, _Aw, does widdle Dwaco miss 'is dungeon? Yes, he does, yes he does!_

Which, in hindsight, meant he should never had started the whole teasing-thing, since it came back and bit him half the time and it had only been two weeks.

They'd been out here for three days. The first (half)day was spent setting up and casting their spells, the second was spent scouting and moving the tent and more scouting, and today-well, he wasn't sure where Hermione was, but none of his instincts were shouting and that stupid necklace charm wasn't burning his wrist (He refused to wear it around his neck-what if it someone grabbed it to choke him? Or worse-what if someone realized it was girl's jewelry?), so she was probably okay. Brightest Witch of the Age, after all, even if she was suddenly fond of pulling reckless stunts that would probably make Godric himself put her in permanent detention for her own safety. Or maybe a cage.

Draco heard a snap and was pulled away from the sight of the lake from the little rise he stood on, glancing down to make sure the Disillusionment charm was still in place. He could a tree root where his stomach should have been, so he assumed so. Very slowly turning at the waist, he saw long grass swish before nothing, and then silently picked up one foot, setting it down in a spot with nothing but a rock, then another backwards step, and another, all in spots clear of anything to show his presence. The figure had apparently realized how much noise they were making, choosing their own steps a little more carefully, but not much. Stupid.

And then the cloak dropped, and Hermione looked around from the center of the rise. "Odd, I would have thought-"

"You idiot!" Draco hissed. "You-" He tried to think of an insult that expressed his anger and relief that wouldn't get his vocal cords removed and used to string some unsuspecting instrument. "You're supposed to be the brightest witch of all bloody time, and yet you're waltzing out here, practically wearing a sign saying, 'Invisible git, Death Eaters aim here!'"

She looked around wildly before Draco remembered to drop the charm. She dropped a slightly raised hand with a look of relief before he leveled her with a glare.

"I-"

"If that's an excuse or an apology, zip it, you Gryffindors can't come up with a good one to save your mother's arse, how can you save your own?"

"Well excuse me for not paying attention! I was looking for you and you're hard enough to find as it is!"

"Alright, you found me, what?"

"I went into Hogsmead and talked to the owner of-"

He cut her off right there. She had been trying to distract him from her mistake, and she was probably going to apply some logic to it while he was still angry and leave it backed into a mental corner with nowhere to let it go except insults and similar statements. Draco was not in a mood to be made a bad guy.

"What. The bloody. Hell. You went into town! What's wrong with you?"

"What, afraid some stranger's going to decide to marry me, _my lord?_" (Where the hell did that come from? Had she been reading weird fiction again?)

"No, it's because you're the most wanted person in the all of Wizarding Europe, and you thought it was okay to just waltz out there! And I don't care if you had the damn cloak! You're not careful in that either!"

She stared at him a moment, apparently scrabbling for a counter-argument, and he kept going.

"Just-WHAT is wrong with you? Why are you so damn reckless? Even for a Gryffindor, you're just getting stupid! You won't bring back your friends by acting like them, Granger! All you're going to do is get yourself killed! And you know what will happen then?"

She shook her head dumbly, a glimpse of tears in her eyes.

"Absolutely nothing. The horcruxes won't get found, cause I'm not doing it. I'm still out here for one reason, Granger, and it's not the food. Next time you go off on one of your insane adventures, actually die that time. I'm not putting up with it. Cause if you do survive, I'll do what Bellatrix didn't and kill you my-fucking-self." He whirled around and stalked off.

How could she! How could she be so _stupid!_ Draco had never met such a reckless bitch in his life! She was going to get herself killed with all these stunts and then where would they be? Draco couldn't find these horcruxes himself, and they were the only fucking hope for the entirety of damned wizarding kind!

Closer to home, where the fuck would he be! If he wasn't there when it happened, he'd be stuck waiting around for a few days wondering where she was and then what? She'd never come back-

The thought hit his anger hard, the image of sitting in the tent alone with the radio on, waiting to see if she'd make her appearance and probably, the place he'd find out would be that stupid radio and then realizing he'd have to face everything alone... Draco was not a person to do anything alone. Too much a coward to stand up by himself and keep walking. But people would expect it, or for him to throw himself at Voldemort's mercy...

He stopped walking, casting the Disillusionment charm, walking in little silent circles. Then he sat down.

Okay, maybe, MAYBE, the death threat was a little much. She had it coming, though! Not using the oversized brain she got given...

Sitting wasn't helping. Definitely wasn't helping. He stood up and kept walking, burning anger settling down into something colder, the type of anger Slytherins used to plan revenge. Get back at her or embarrass her or something...

When he made it back to the tent, he slid through the wards, ghosted into the tent, and found she had made it back first.

And dammit, she was crying, lying on the top bunk of her bed and curled around a sheet and pillow, sobbing.

His anger dissipated. He hadn't hurt her that much, had he? Okay, death threat had been a bit much. And maybe... The Bellatrix comment was probably uncalled-for, yeah... He looked down and started when he remembered he was still invisible, seeing the floor through his shoes. Undoing the charm, and shaking off the odd feeling that always came with it, he stood on the frame-sides of her bed, peering over the railing at her.

She was whispering Ron's name, promising things for an if he came back. Damn, he thought they'd got over this. Guilt unpacked itself and made itself at home, the center of attention.

"Hermione. Hermione!" he whispered. She started, looked up, teary eyes hopeful, and then went dull. She glared. "Don't you have things to do?" she whispered fiercely. "Gearing up the cruciatus for my murder, perhaps?"

He flinched, not meeting her gaze. "Look, Hermione..."

"Don't call me Hermione, you loathsome little earwig!"

He blinked. "First you want me to call you Hermione, then you don't, and then you're recycling insults from third-year. I was trying to apologize!"

She snorted, turning away from him and laying her head on the pillow. He noticed how frayed the sheet-set was and couldn't help but think that it was probably Weasley's. Since he couldn't hold a conversation from this position, Draco sighed and heaved himself over the rail, rolling onto the mattress. "Hermione..." He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know I shouldn't have said that, it was probably the worst possible thing I could say. I-I am trying to do a heartfelt apology. Grace me with a glimpse of your face, would you, your Highness?"

She peered at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you. I said the wrong thing, but I-" Damn, this was the part where he had to admit things, wasn't it? "I was scared. For...You." Well, with luck he didn't have to get much sappier.

She raised an eyebrow.

Today we are gathered to mourn the death of Draco's luck...

"And I do stupid things when I'm scared or confused or any of those negative emotions and I'll even admit it, Buckbeak wasn't as dangerous as I was acting. Happy? Your new best friend is a git from hell with anger problems." He stared at the ceiling of the tent, brooding.

She sniffled. "It'll do, I guess..." The bed creaked as she rolled. "It's the best I'm getting, huh?"

He caught a glimpse of her burying her face in the pillow again. Draco rolled his eyes. What was so special about-

He inspected the corner of the sheet where a little R had been embroidered by a well-meaning mother. Ron. Ronald Weasley. She actually still missed him! She missed that prideful git of a Weasel when she was in a tent with Draco Malfoy!

He crawled off the bed, crossed into the little kitchen area and fetched down the firewhiskey. There was two bottles, one half-empty because Draco had started taking a swallow before bed to help him sleep a little deeper before his three o'clock awakening. It was good for keeping away nightmares. Of course, if Hermione knew she'd scold him for hours...

He fished out the two small glasses in the entire tent, shrank them with a wave of his hand, and poured. Picking up them and the bottle, he crossed the small distance back to Hermione's bunk, tapping her back and handing her the shotglass.

"You're upset, I'm rightfully angry, alcohol always feels like it solves everything for a while, drink."

Then he sat down her bunk, tossed back his own shot, (It burned on the way down, but he didn't mind) and started sipping from the bottle, more for something to do than anything. (Which was a really bad thing to do, he knew, but one was only young once)

About the moment he was starting to feel buzzed, he noticed that her sheets smelled that perfume of hers. He could actually tell what it was now. Something sort of cool, but warm. Like a spice-and-peppermint mix...

Peppermint hot cocoa, maybe? But that would be an odd perfume. More likely... Peppermint and... He wanted to say nutmeg.

His mouth watered slightly. Burying his face in her pillow, he inhaled and sighed.

There was a creak, a shuffling, "Draco, what are you _doing_?"

"Go 'way, your sheets smell nice," he muttered. The bottle was jerked from her hand.

"How much have you had?" she asked in an incredulous voice.

"'M only buzzed, 'Mione, I know my limits." He pushed himself up and met her unbelieving eyes. She folded her arms. "You're dropping letters."

He rolled his eyes, pulled himself off the bed. Finding his balance, Draco walked a line. It was almost perfectly straight. A single stumble, but that was it.

"Okay, fine. No more for you." She started to put the bottle back, then looked at how much was left and began drinking. Draco sat in a chair, watching her with a raised eyebrow. She did know the serving size for firewhiskey, didn't she? He pulled out a chair and watched her shakily sit down. She fiddled with the bottle, read it, stared at it, sipped.

"I really loved Ron. I...I guess you might not believe it, but you didn't exactly like him anyway... I mean, sure, he had his issues with pride, but he was the youngest brother, there's not really much left for him to do with his life that someone in his family hasn't..."

He restrained himself from pointing out that she was starting to speak in present tense.

"He left... For a while. It..." She sipped from the bottle. He watched it slowly drain. Three shots equivalent... "It was hard... It was sort of... This hole. I guess it sort of stirred me into action when he came back." She took a deep breath, looked at the bottle, and drained it. Draco gaped.

"Harry had gone for a walk to think about the next horcrux, said he'd be a few hours, and... It just sort of happened! Just a kiss and then suddenly-"

He tried to figure out why she was telling him this at the same time he tried to process that she had slept with the Weasel.

Weasel! Seriously!

That must have been so, "Boring," Draco said, "How are you supposed to enjoy it with a git like that?"

She flushed in anger. "It was-"

"You have nothing to compare to. First times are things to be gotten out of the way as quickly as possible, Granger. They're always so serious and boring."

"That wasn't the only time," she sniffed. "It was just the first."

"And I bet they were all the same. Dry. Dull."

"Hey! I-"

Draco leaned back in his chair, a foot anchored on the edge of the table. "Granger, Weasel was unimaginative in everything else, why would his sex-life be any different?"

Oh, damn, he was starting to think of Pansy. It hadn't lasted past the halfway point of sixth year, but they'd had fun, messed around, and even when they ended they'd stayed friends.

There was the time he'd leaned on her hair, which had killed the mood with apologies, then trying again only to end up laughing by the end.

She was glaring at him, and apparently the alcohol was sending her emotions to extremes, because there was tears in her eyes. He was still buzzed, which made the angry flush look extremely attractive.

"How about you try me and then you can judge," he suggested, smirking. Her emotions immediately swung around, tears streaming, but laughing, but sobbing. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"'M not-not laughing at you," she managed to say around a sobbing gasp of air. Draco had the sense to hand her something to wipe her face. It was a shirt, but there weren't many towels in the tent.

She wiped her face and paused, emotions swinging again. "Whose is this?"

"Scarhead's-mine-somebody's."

"It smells nice," she whispered, eyes closed. "Sort of... Wintery." She made a face. "Even if it's also a bit sweaty."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm tired of flirting and inching around it like startled squirrels. While I'm still on liquid courage and you're still drunk, can we just snog already?"

Her lips slammed against his. "Thank you," he muttered, the words muffled, and gripped her waist, dragging her onto his lap, one hand on her waist and the other tangling in her hair.

Draco wasn't one to see sparks or fireworks when he snogged someone. Maybe that was a girl-thing. They were very fond of that description in the novels Hermione had in the tent. He was, however, very pleasantly, aware and sensitive to anywhere she was pressed against him. Her arms around his neck, fingers running through his hair, chest pressed against his and legs straddling his. He tangled his fingers in her hair, lips parting against hers and tongue slithering the distance. Steadily lowering inhibitions and no chance of being interrupted made it a rather enjoyable fifteen minutes of his life.

Until she remembered she was supposed to be an emotional wreck and shoved away, looking confused, emotions moving quickly over her face. He sighed. "Right, it's been an exhausting day and all we've really accomplished is draining part of our valuable whiskey stash. Let's turn in for the night." He picked her up, crossed the distance and dumped her on her mattress, then curled up on his own, falling into sleep extremely quickly, before he could even wind down.

Draco woke up at two-something when dreams found him, odd twisted things confusing his already addling mind, and he stayed up for hours struggling to untangle them.

Hermione slept sound.

* * *

Alcohol does weird things XD

And anyone who notices the Hogsmead thing got left hanging-guess what the next part will concern?


	5. Chapter 5

The farther along I go, the odder these two seem to get, even if they stay more-or-less in-character...

Also noting how last chapter got a record-breaking ONE review. WOW, guys. Seriously? XD Even a few words is welcome, it helps explain why I'm getting so many alerts for this thing. It isn't even that good, I've created plotlines for stories that are meant to be much longer and they get less. :P

Magnum Opus Dissonance, it seems. Ah well. I'll roll with it. But a few more reviews this chapter around would be lovely. I like answering them.

* * *

The morning after drinking had been awkward. The afternoon had been embarrassing.

The morning after that, she handed Draco a cup of coffee.

"So, I went into Hogsmead, and talked with Aberforth, who runs the Hog's Head-We quizzed each other first, don't worry. He has a way he can sneak us into Hogwarts. We need to enter his pub fifteen minutes before curfew, I'll wear the cloak and you're disguise yourself somehow. Sit in the corner seat at the bar. No one sits there."

"It's a bad seat?"

"Got a worse stain than most, stuck in the corner, rattles, creaks, closest to the door, it's the seat that gets used if you've got no other choice. Order two firewhiskeys 'for a griffin.' When the pub clears out, then he can get us through."

"And you trust him?"

"Yes."

He stared at her a moment over his coffee. It was weak, but they were rationing it, so he wasn't complaining. He drained it. "Alright. So the password is cheesy, but I think I can manage. Curfew would be sundown, right? It always is."

"Yeah..."

"Fifteen minutes before. Are you sure it won't be suspicious?"

"No, people apparently like to grab a drink to pass the night before they crawl into their Death Eater-watched beds. He'll probably put a few empty glasses near you."

"Yeah, even Death Eaters don't like dealing with drunks. If they go around and check, they'll probably just roll their eyes and wait to drag me in after I leave stumbling."

"We're hoping." She turned on the radio, fiddling with the knobs a little. A note of Celestina Warbeck, something on garden gnomes, news carefully controlled by Voldemort, and then she twisted another knob and muggle channels slid by.

"_I wanna hold your ha-a-and, I wanna hold your haaannnd."_

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What-"

"It's the Beatles! They're probably one of the most influential bands in muggle history! How could you no-oh, right..." Her lecture deflated with a blush.

"Ah, you remember. I was hardly raised to be interested in muggle culture, Hermione."

She turned to another station.

"_I've finally decided, my future lies, beyond the yellow brick ro-o-oad, a-a-a-ah, aaaah,"_

"Elton John," she said.

"_And you're here in my heart, and my heart will go on and on,"_

Hermione shrugged at his questioning gaze. "Let's..."

"Go back to the Bugs?"

"Beatles."

"It's a group named after an insect, whatever."

"You're a disrespectful git," she said, but turned the knob.

They had spent hours like this, chasing this mysterious bug artist all over the airwaves. It was only a few hours to sunset when they began to get ready. Draco went about changing his appearance.

"It really isn't all that hard. I don't need to be drastic. Hand me that mirror. Change the hair color and drop the cheekbones, it's the details that matter." Draco inspected himself. A few tiny motions and ink-black color spread from the roots of his hair. The rest of his body pigments changed subtly with the change, the magic pulling from his body to instruct and construct.

It brought out the Black side of his family genetics. Another motion, and his cheekbones lowered, angles changing just a little. He looked much less aristocratic with only minimal pain. It also made his eyes appear larger, making him appear a few years younger.

Blinking felt weird.

"Your lashes are blond."

He sighed, lashes and eyebrows darkening with only a thought. He looked paler than usual, barely sixteen, with extremely light grey eyes and otherwise...

Well, obviously poor, with the constant sheen on grime over various parts of his skin. Except the cologne. Draco couldn't really remember why he'd had a bottle of cologne in his pocket when that night, but the scent had been a bit of regularity in his other unstable life. He'd... Probably have to hope for the best on that.

He pulled a large, somewhat ragged cloak over himself and then he and Hermione began taking the tent down, pulling up stakes and bundling them, sliding everything into Hermione's bag. One hour left.

They took down the wards, Hermione wearing the invisibility cloak. The magic disappated with momentary colors or wisps.

"Well," Hermione said quietly, "Here we go."

He pulled up his hood, but then reached out a hand to where her voice had been, closing it on nothing but brushing her back.

"What?"

He took a step forward, lowering the hood. She blinked at him as he curled a few fingers under her chin and then kissed her, a bit hungrily, but mostly because he felt like following a cliché for a moment.

Then he pulled her hood up. "Let's go," he said, testing a voice. It was a bit soft, an almost whisper, and sounded vaguely-well, not Wiltshire and not foreign, and that was what mattered. The cloak pulled close around his form, his head down, he followed the trails down into Hogsmead.

He only paused for a moment at the edge of time, disguised as a look at a poster. How to walk... He let his shoulders slump a little, head tilted toward the ground.

And he walked around the people trying to finish their business, never stalling, never talking, one ear and one eye trained for a glimpse of Hermione. She was better than he thought and he saw nothing.

Walking around, dodging, pausing and slipping through little gaps was a big thing for Draco. He had been raised like a noble, like royalty. They walked in straight lines, head up and hoods thrown off, everyone else was to move out of their way. It was going against himself completely, focusing on his footsteps.

Twenty minutes to curfew. The streets began clearing. He caught sight of a footprint in mud that shouldn't have appeared, suppressing an urge to groan. Instead, he swiftly avoided the eye-contact he nearly made with a man on a street-corner, glancing up at the sign for the Hog's Head. He held the door to the grimy pub open a bit longer in a pretense of looking for a seat while Hermione pressed against him. He slipped in, avoiding looking at anyone and slinking around the edge of the room to the seat in the corner. The seat had a heavily splintered leg and the sawdust was a little thicker over here, but it wasn't discolored. He carefully sat on the edge, Hermione tucked between him and the wall. He could hear little whispers of people in their conversations, tiny clinks of filthy glasses, glimpses from the corner of his eye seeing subtle transfers of packages. Just a few months ago he would have sneered at the thought of passing a place like this, low rank or no. Now he was just glad to be somewhere that wasn't cold. He hunched his shoulders, (Yet another thing against his breeding, he'd been taught to sit ramrod straight and keep his elbows off the table) leaning his weight on the bar to help keep it off the stool.

The barkeeper came by, wiping the bar with a rag, one piercing eye (Dumbledore, those eyes were like Dumbledore's... Draco boxed his emotions so he wouldn't react) meeting his in a question of drinks.

"Two firewhiskeys for a griffin," he whispered to his hands, almost silent. It was a bit of a ridiculous statement, but made him sound vaguely like a barkeeper's apprentice. It sounded like an order code.

Several minutes later, the man practically flicked the glasses at him. Draco caught them, picking one up and sipping carefully. He had the sudden urge to hum one of those Bug-Beatle songs and gritted his teeth for a moment. This was very definitely not the place to sing Lucy in the Sky with something.

An obviously drunk man clattered into a stool next to him. "Say kid. Expectin' company?"

Draco turned to look at him slowly, expression and face blank. After a moment, when the man began to feel uncomfortable, he said, "If you were that company, you wouldn't have asked," he said in that quiet voice.

"Yeh wearin' a hood. Why ya hidin'?"

Most of the room joined Draco in staring at the man. Most of the room was wearing hoods, after all.

Hermione, shifting against him to avoid the man who wandered up, knowing a sucker when he saw one. Draco turned away to let the wizard take advantage of the lovely opportunity. The drunk wandered outside with him. Draco wondered if he'd ever be seen alive again.

He sipped at his drink. The glass was still dirty and he just knew it had been used recently, but there wasn't any funny tastes and he didn't want to offend the Dumbledore-eye-match by wiping it.

The room suddenly seemed to empty in the following minutes. Draco finally finished the first drink. He picked up the second.

"Two minutes to curfew, I don't have a spare room," the barkeeper said. Draco understood. The man didn't quite trust him yet and was waiting on Hermione to show herself.

Her lips were quite close to his ear and it was quite pleasant. And distracting.

The man put a cat outside, which slinked away.

The door shut. The room was now empty. Draco swiftly dug his elbow into Hermione's stomach, and she slammed back into the wall a moment. Then her hood dropped. "Draco!" she hissed.

The man bolted the door. "Upstairs," was all he said. Draco tossed back the rest of the firewhiskey, walking around the bar to a door and pulling it open, heading up the rickety staircase. It creaked and groaned, but the sound was almost comforting, almost living. The room it opened into was worn as the room downstairs, threadbare carpet and small fireplace unlit. A chair, a tiny table. An oil painting above the fireplace, but no other signs of family or friends or connections. No photos, no drawings, nothing.

The blond girl looked at him, but her expression was empty. Mad. But gentle-looking. A few paintings on the halls at home had people like her, insane, broken, some raving and permanently silenced, some like this. He gave a kindly smile he didn't feel and sat on the floor by the fire, pulling off his hood. Hermione's head floated over to the window, looking out at the street, before she dropped the cloak, silvery fabric pooling on the ground.

"That cloak really is unusual, you know," he said. "Supposedly, it's been in Potter's family for generations, but invisibility cloaks don't usually last more than twenty years on average, even if it's recast regularly."

She folded it up, struggling a little with the slippery fabric, and sat across from him. "Well, if I believe in fairy tales, I'd say it was a hallow, but-"

He chuckled, undoing the magic holding his appearance. "Legends have to start somewhere. Not to say the objects were actually gifted by Death, the ones able to ask aren't generally able to come back and tell, but generally it has always stood that the objects were created by three of among the most powerful wizards in history, who were also brothers. Strength does tend to run in linage, and that's not bigotry, a muggleborn wizard devoted his life to study magic at its base and how it runs in families. The legend just adds a little something extra to the items, a belief of extra power, and belief is a magic all itself."

Draco had been to a muggle church once, an old place with towering walls and aging stone, and the feeling that crawled up his spine had been an experience he'd never forgotten.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the barkeeper entered the room.

"So you're trying to get into Hogwarts," he said, sitting in the chair. It wobbled, just a little. He directed the question at Hermione.

"Yes, it's very important. We're-"

He cut her off. His voice was gruff. "You're both bloody fools."

"We're aware," Draco said, watching the painting of the girl. It was beautifully done. "She likes lost causes."

"The old secret passages are covered at both ends, dementors-"

"We know. We've spent a few days around here. She likes lost causes, I told you."

The old man's face was grim, those eyes piercing. Draco only met them for a second before staring at the painting again. "Who is she?"

"Ariana," Hermione said. "Is she Ariana?"

"Yes. Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you, missy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course she has. She'd never live with herself, knowing there was a book out there left untouched by her hands." Hermione blushed and glared at him. "We aren't here to talk about dead sisters or lovers or whoever she is. She's convinced you know a way in. If you do, say it, if not, we're leaving."

"What's so important, Malfoy? Have you lost your self-preservation?"

"Sold it, got a bad return, and can't convince them to get a refund. We're making sure Potter's death wasn't completely pointless."

"It was. It was one of my brother's mad schemes, wasn't it?"

Hermione looked shocked. Draco reached over the little table and closed her mouth before she snapped at the barkeeper.

"Dumbledore's mad scheme or not, we're just doing our bit."

"Bit for what? The war's over, You-Know-Who's won-"

"I'm aware. She's delusional, still. But one day there might be another war against him, and what we're doing could mean we win that next time. What we're doing is stupid and it might kill us too, but it tilts the odds a little. We need in."

He looked up Ariana. "You know what to do."

Ariana smiled and turned, walking.

She didn't walk out the sides, but into the background. She had a connected painting? Or something else? Something seemed...

When she came back, someone was with her, broad shoulders and gashes and hints of bruises through the painting.

Then it swung out, and Longbottom clambered out, a new gash and black eye on his face, robes ripped up. His face lit up as he spotted Hermione, and Draco tamped down on jealousy. "I knew it!" He leapt from the mantlepiece, hugging her tight. "I knew you were alive, I knew they weren't fooling us!"

Hermione grinned at Longbottom, who let her go. She started talking about his injuries with a worried look, and Draco stood up, feeling like he was unfolding. "Arm heal up okay, Longbottom?"

He looked at Draco, eyes narrowing just a little. "Yeah, no thanks to you."

"Vincent would have done worse," he said with a shrug. Hermione looked between them, expression a little lost. Draco climbed onto the mantle and grabbed both her hands, pulling her up. "I'm sure Longbottom will explain as we walk. Grab the cloak, would you? It was Potter's and it's valuable."

Longbottom glared just a little, but picked it up, looking a little surprised at the feel of the material. He said something to Aberforth, who looked a little disgruntled, ("I know, that's they're apparating right into the bar") climbed up beside them, reaching out for Hermione's arm, but Draco felt jealousy sharp against his insides again, sliding an arm around her waist and leading her down the tunnel. Longbottom gave him a distrusting look.

The tunnel was smooth with age, from the steps to the floor, to the lanterns swinging gently.

"What, Malfoy hasn't told you? It's the Carrows, they're in charge of discipline."

"Teachers are supposed to refer students with detentions to them, most of them avoid it," Draco said, not looking at Longbottom. "Detention is having the Cruciatus practiced on you by fellow students."

Hermione went a little pale.

"How I got this one," Longbottom pointed to a deep gash on his cheek. Draco nearly winced as he remembered that. It still hadn't healed, oddly. "I refused. Some people are into it; Crabbe and Goyle love it." He glared at Draco like he was personally responsible.

"First time they've had a good grade in anything. And the other teachers can't give them T's or they get hit hard for being 'unfair to the students.'"

Then they both glanced at Hermione's expression. "Never mind that! Did you really break into Gringotts? And steal a dragon? What did you do with it? Is Malfoy giving you a hard time?"

"What?" she said dazedly for a moment. "Oh, yeah. We released into the wild-"

"Released? You make it sound like we tamed it."

"Well just because you were screaming like a-"

"I was not screaming!"

"I really think you should just let your dying ego go, you vain prick."

"It's not dying, it's comatose."

They continued their playful bickering for a moment before they looked at Longbottom a moment, both a little embarrassed.

"Problem, Longbottom?"

"Not at all," he said, in a voice that said just how much it wasn't. He turned and began climbing the stairs, puffing a little with pain and exhaustion. At the top, he climbed out. "It's Hermione! She's really alive!" he called out. Draco, knowing what was coming, let go of her. She climbed through the portrait hole into a room, people already scrambling to meet her, talk to her, touch her. Draco lingered a moment as she was bombarded with questions, finally slipping through and standing against the wall. He was pulled into a corner by Longbottom.

"Oh, didn't know you felt this way, Longbottom," he said snarkily.

"Listen, snake, I don't know what you're planning, but if you hurt Hermione-"

"You'll turn me into a grease stain or kill me or something. I KNOW. Tell the others you gave me the standard threat or something so I don't have to listen to this twice an hour."

Hermione was starting to look overwhelmed. Longbottom grabbed the collar of his shirt. "It won't be you I hurt, Malfoy."

Draco raised his eyebrows, nearly whistling. "Didn't know you could be so vindictive, Longbottom. Who knows, maybe one day we can even get along."

He left him there, going back to his position on the wall, looking for an opening in to Hermione. She gave him a panicked look, "Actually, Draco-"

"Oh, he's Draco now?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "We've been stuck in a one-room tent since April. Given names is practically a requirement."

"Yeah, you know what they say, familiarity breeds-"

"Contempt?"

Her expression was unamused. Moving Brown aside, she grabbed his arm, dragging him over to a corner.

"I don't think this is the place-"

"Save it. What is wrong with you?"

"That is a loaded question. Please specify. Whose perspective?"

"Draco-"

"Remember what Longbottom just said about the Cruciatus being used on students by students? Allow me to expand on that. As a member of Slytherin House, we are expected to do it more often and perfectly, and to otherwise torment our fellow houses. When they look at me, that is what they're seeing. The conniving snake who caused them pain every. Fucking. Day. Not-whatever you've been seeing in the tent. You put people on pedestals when you befriend them, Hermione, and I don't deserve one."

"Well can't you try-"

"No, I can't try, and they won't try, and it doesn't matter because it's not me they care about anyway. They're here for you, they're looking up to you, Scarhead's Successor. So instead of arguing with me about morals I don't have and things that aren't going to change, go talk to them."

She stared at him a moment.

"I think the Weasley crowd's going to be arriving soon anyway, and they'll want a firsthand account," he said, much more softly. "Better prepare for that."

She bit her lip and nodded slightly, letting out a breath. There was a lot of sadness in it, unshed tears and unspoken details of nightmares, and then she turned around and walked right back. He stared at her back a moment, straight spine and firmly set shoulders, and then scanned a local bookshelf.

It was a mix, all the wishes and needs of the room packing it with books on magic or children's books, fairy tales and history books side-by-side, muggle novels and magical cooking books. He reached out, picking a history book. Maybe he could find out what one of their last horcruxes was.

Of course, once he sat down against the wall again, he stared over the open book at Hermione, telling about the Gringotts break-in. Every time she tried to downplay something, or started talking in that voice reserved for explaining something in class, the audience would bombard her with questions forcing her to expand on some detail that turned it back into an epic adventure.

"But the thieves trap removes enchantments!"

"Well, yeah, we had to redo the Imperius, but-"

"The carts move so fast-you could have been spotted!"

"Well, yes, so we only had one chance and Draco had the only wand-"

"What happened to yours?"

"Greyback took it. I can do without it now, though. Like I said, because of the trap we had used muggle means of disguise, and-what?" she called across the room. He realized he'd been caught staring and quickly looked back down at his book, cheeks pink.

The story continued, as the portrait swung out again, admitting Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood. Draco felt vaguely ill. Someone, who he realized was Seamus, (He'd talked back again, from the looks of his face) ran across the room.

Luna looked at him a moment, but then her gaze swept away, calm and cool and a little odd. Draco wished she had glared. Empty faces made him think she was planning something.

And then the Weasleys, Fred and George and Ginerva. They crowded around Hermione, talking so fast and treating her like a long-lost sister-she probably was to them. And then they suddenly started sobbing and Draco closed his eyes tight so he wouldn't see.

They were asking now, begging to know how their brother and could-have-been brother died. Hermione very carefully sat down, through his narrowed eyelashes he saw her eyes glaze, flash, as she began to relive. "We-We were captured by snatchers. Harry-We told him it was Taboo but I guess he forgot, he said You-Know-Who's name and then-I used a Stinging Jinx on his face, to make his less recognizable, it sort-of worked, for a little while, but... Fenrir, he kept LOOKING at me, like..." She shuddered. "They realized it was Harry because of me, and-they apparated us to Malfoy Manor," her voice was starting to become emotionless in an effort to not break down, "They didn't want the Ministry to steal credit, and then-" emotion rose in her voice and then settled down to flat again. "They asked Draco to identify him, kept talking about how it would redeem them,"

"_Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven!"_

"But he just-kept saying I don't knows and I can't be sures, and dodging it all and maybe that could have stalled them long enough to figure out a way out, but-me, again."

She put her head in her hands. "It's my fault," she sobbed.

Draco wasn't even pretending to read now, book closed. He heaved himself to his feet, while the room watched him. Walking along the wall, (He couldn't quite trust his own balance, the memories were rising) he settled down next to her, one arm on her shoulders and the other using the cloak to wipe her eyes. "Should I?" he whispered. She curled against him, like this was one of her nightmares. He pulled the cloak around her to give her some privacy. "They were fighting over who to call him, back and forth and then Bellatrix noticed what Greyback was holding. A longsword, with rubies in the handle. She seemed convinced of some danger, she stunned the snatchers and interrogated Greyback. He said it was in their tent, she let him go and took Hermione from the group, sent the rest to the cellar.

"Bellatrix had stunned the snatchers but was too anxious to kill them, she told me to take them outside for later. She likes to take her time about these things, so when I came in she'd only just started..."

He felt dead inside, remembering, drawing Hermione closer while she sobbed. "Spread-eagled on the floor and Bellatrix had straddled her, using the Cruciatus from the close distance or carving something into her arm with that silver knife she was always so fond of, asking questions, yelling them, at first she gave her time to respond but it wasn't the answers she wanted so eventually she just sort of... Started playing, listening to her scream, laughing..." His eyes closed, he started rocking slightly as Hermione's screams echoed through his mind, he couldn't speak, he couldn't-couldn't do anything, just stand there and watch in only half-disguised horror, the way her eyes begged him to do something...

"_Didn't steal it, you say, filthy Mudblood?" Her laughter rang loud, blending with Hermione next scream._

"Dobby came for us," came the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood. "But I didn't go at first, the boy wanted to rescue Hermione and I thought they might need help. The door wasn't locked as tight this time, and a little man called Wormtail opened it to check us, so we tackled him. He was strangled by his own silver hand. We went upstairs, and found the room and Bellatrix was starting to look a little bored."

Draco counted off something in his head. The people there, the marks. "My father called You-Know-Who," he stated dully, then reached up to wipe his eyes, realizing there was tears. He couldn't believe he'd just cried in front of a room of people. "Bellatrix had her knife against Hermione's throat, starting to apply pressure, just a little at a time. Potter and Weasley burst into the room, Bellatrix threw her knife, my father cast a Killing Curse at Weasley, You-Know-Who at Potter. When the knife was in the air I stunned Bellatrix and used a cutting spell, I don't know why. Hermione tried to struggle free, I grabbed her wrist.

"There's a window in every room on the ground floor, meant for those quick and desperate escapes, the glass is built for certain fracture-points and easy replacement, I jumped through it.

"I remember their faces. Weasley was determined, grim, like he knew it would kill him but he did it anyway, Potter folded like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut, sad but somehow... Accepting..."

"Dobby came for me and Griphook when I stunned Narcissa so she wouldn't stop Draco. Bellatrix killed Dobby too, she had a second knife. Draco had half-missed with the stunner. A table exploded on You-Know-Who's snake, but it looked fine. That's an odd snake."

Draco snorted. "No, I'M an odd snake, Nagini's just deadly. And if I broke a table, then you're lucky to be alive."

Damn snake liked to jump through midair.

The room was silent for several moment, sobs and tears not breaking but settling in the air.

Ginny, very carefully, separated Hermione from Draco's arms, and the two of them cried together, Fred and George gathering around them. Draco looked at the ceiling, feeling...empty.

Hermione could have been their sister-in-law, and she seemed happy enough at the prospect, and now that was gone, and here was Draco intruding in her life, snogging her for much less than the noble reasons that Weasel must have had, and being a right prick about everything...

Dammit, he felt guilty.

Putting his head in his hands, he ignored the slow sound of voices beginning to start up again, slowly rolling insults around in his head, and wishing that the person who was slowing inching towards him would, "Go away."

"Why?"

"Because. I am wallowing self-hatred. Visiting hours are closed."

"What did you do to your hair?"

He looked up at Finnigan with a blank and grumpy expression.

"It's black at the roots."

"A disguise. It doesn't want to come out. Now will you go away? Or if you're going to threaten me, hurry it up?"

Finnigan paused, then walked away.

People passed by, some still threatening, some with awkward pauses, Brown just sat next to him for a few moments.

Brown was okay.

After a while, things seemed up to normal, and Hermione came over and pulled him up by his hair.

"Ow, fuck, what the hell is wrong with you!"

"You're supposed to deprecate others, not yourself. Stop it."

"No, it's my new hobby. It comes with free entrance to every pity-party in existence."

"Draco..." Her fist clenched warningly. He winced as it pulled tighter on his hair.

"You know... You usually aren't like this. What's got you wound up, Granger?"

"We have things to do, and if you're just going to lie around we won't get anywhere!"

He very carefully removed her hand from his hair. She took this as a signal he was ready to work, apparently. They took the quills, ink and parchment the room provided, taking silent notes.

The room took this as a signal to finally ask them what they were doing, why had they been in the woods and onward.

Hermione refused, either Gryffindor pride or seeing this as something they had to do alone or something. Something noble like that. Draco, who no longer had any pride and wanted to get this adventure in Hogwarts over with, said, "We're looking for an item, something that would have belonged to Ravenclaw, or quite probably some secret lost item of the founders, since that sounds like our luck. If you've heard of one, cough it up."

Lovegood, perched on the back of a chair, said, "There's Ravenclaw's lost diadem. Papa's trying to replicate it."

Draco wrote it down with a groan. "Of course it's lost." He glanced at Hermione. "A week?"

"Three days."

"Bet it somehow has a dozen teeth."

"Or flies and shrieks loud enough to blind people."

"Or is guarded by starving three-headed dogs and dragons."

"All three at once?"

They continued writing.

"And we need something to destroy it, but-"

"You're about to think too hard. Instead, think backwards. Why does the sword work?"

"I-Don't know-"

"How was the diary killed?" He drew out a few lines connecting some thoughts.

"A basilisk f-And the sword is goblin silver! So a-" She groaned. "How are we supposed to get in THERE? You're supposed to tell it open in Parseltongue!"

"We broke into Gringotts and survived, I'm sure a room in Hogwarts will be easy."

She shook her head slightly. They kept writing. Around them, the room began to go about their duties. Older students shepherded the younger ones into their hammocks, the tapestries of three houses almost seeming to give off a tiring warmth as the room adjusted to the bedtime, shifting in those little ways that left the least monsters in the corner and added a little cheer. Hermione stretched, wincing a little as she twisted at the waist. The room obligingly gave them a low table.

At some point, he stopped writing about horcruxes and basilisks, wandering onto essays for old homework and scribblings of little lines of nothing and drawings and scraps of memory, and from what he could tell Hermione was doing the same. Something about having a quill in hand again did that.

The rest of the room was all asleep, rocking in their hammocks or still in their sleeping bags, snoring, whispering. It was past two. Draco suddenly looked up and blinked, realizing he was tired, and that his wrist was sore, and that there was quite the large stack of parchment next to him. He looked at Hermione.

From the looks of it, she had blinked and her eyes had decided to stay shut. He slid the quill from her hand, turned her parchment over so early-morning risers wouldn't read whatever it was, and unfolded the blanket he knew hadn't been next to him before. Laying it down, he rolled Hermione onto it, folding part of it over her. She curled up a little. Draco turned over his own parchment and curled up in the sleeping bag the room gave him. It was green, and warm and he really hoped he could keep it. Looking at Hermione, only a few feet away, he reached out, touching her arm.

The feel of her skin, the touch of soft warmth. He fell asleep that way, damn what everyone else might think.

* * *

There we go, guys. The giant honking (5,000 words!) pre-story explanation chapter. While I followed the book for quite a lot of the Malfoy Manor scene (I have the book, not the movie, after all), I used some of the movie canon for a few bits, and then tossed in some originality. I tend to blend canons like that for things that clash between book and movie.

Concerning lyrics: Like someone is allowed to use a song without asking as long as it's less than a minute, I have been told someone is allowed to print lyrics as long as it is a verse or less. The songs, I Wanna Hold Your Hand, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and My Heart Will Go On, are copyright their respective owners. If the law is not as I heard, please inform me and I will remove them.

Please review this time XD


	6. Chapter 6

You may notice the rating changed to M... Draco and Hermione got away from me. Though, and I am stating this right now: IT IS NOT A LEMON.

So you in the back! Yes, you, shamefully trying to duck beneath the seat! Zip up your pants!

On to other things...

I figure I should do this once in my fanfiction career- Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyright J.K. Rowling. I am not Rowling. This is a fan-work made and distributed for free for the enjoyment of fellow fans. Would all lawyers on duty please remove yourself from the premise.

* * *

If it weren't for the fact that it was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, the fact that he was alone in one with Hermione would have been a rather enjoyable prospect to his currently easily-distracted mind.

He adjusted the cloak around them again, trying to keep it off the floor. He'd asked Myrtle to flood the bathroom floor to help make absolutely sure no one came in. It often took days for Filch to come by to even mop the outside. But Longbottom had insisted they take the cloak anyway.

They were currently standing in an inch of water, looking at a sink.

"It's on the underside, here, then." Hermione crouched and he was forced to follow. Of course, it pressed his chest against her back, chin setting on her shoulder to peer at what she was pointing out. It was impossible to miss the shiver that went through her. "Dr-Space, please."

"From where? We're cramped under here as it is," he whispered. The simple carving of a snake was a bit angular, scratched in by someone trying to get the point across, not artistic. It held his attention for a few seconds, but then he was once again distracted by the girl he practically had in his arms. He nuzzled her neck.

A few days of having access to a shower turned her into quite the lovely specimen, even if much of the bushiness of her hair had been lost forever. But it was curly and frizzy and soft and as he was discovering, rather nice to bury his nose in.

"Draco!" she hissed. "Stop that! We're working!"

"Stop being a distraction, then," he muttered, eyes closed. "I don't care how wet this floor is if you're as edible as you feel."

She tensed, and he was sure she was flushing, her breath paused and hitched. "D-Dr-Draco, we..."

He kissed her neck, hands running along her sides, pulling her a little closer to him.

She half-melted for a moment, breathing fluttering and leaning back against him, but suddenly, she elbowed him right below the ribs. He gasped for air, in pain and nearly throwing up, and glared at her, though he knew she couldn't see it.

"Not now," she said, attempting to be forceful but still breathless.

He sighed, adjusting his footing so she had the space she'd originally asked for. "So the sink needs to be talked to in Parseltongue to open."

"Yes."

"And neither of us are Parseltongues, yet we came anyway."

"We need to get in, or we'll never get the basilisk fangs."

"Parseltongue is the language of snakes."

"Obviously," she said a little testily. With a few pauses, and a complete refusal to ever bathe again, she could make a good substitute for Snape.

Ugh, that was an unpleasant thought.

"So what if we conjured a snake?"

"And somehow we could control it?"

Draco thought for a moment. He'd conjured a snake in second year. For a moment he'd had control over it.

"For the second it would take. It might work." He stood up and pulled her with him. Pulling off the cloak, he folded it and looked at the sink. Pulling out his wand, he flicked it in a quick motion like the slither of a snake, and the reptile flew through the air, wrapped itself around a hanging fixture and faced them, then the sink.

It hissed, a sibilant and yet strangled sound, not really meant for the human tongue. With a click and a deep groan, a shudder, the sink began to descend.

Draco quickly vanished the snake, which had begun to look rather interested in them.

"You know, the title Heir of Slytherin implies a male. Why's this in a girl's bathroom?"

"No idea," Hermione said, bundling the cloak. "Though, considering the redesign the building likes to take itself through on occasion, I highly doubt it started out that way." She shoved the cloak in her purse.

Draco peered down into the tunnel. It was wide, dark and slimy, and otherwise unappealing. "Ladies first, Hermione."

"Well then, go ahead!"

He blinked, gave her a look of Slytherin approval and jumped in.

It was a slide, with narrower branches off to other destinations, and absolutely disgusting, but somehow exhilarating, and he was half-grinning by the time the tunnel leveled out and he shot into a room, landing on the dark floor with a thud. Standing up, he shook his hand, sending slime flying everywhere as Hermione flew out the pipe and tumbled across the floor. She sat up, ("_Lumos_," Draco whispered, mostly to fill the heavy, ancient silence) holding her head, and Draco considered helping her up, but she scrambled to her feet. "Come on. This way. I remember how-" she swallowed. "How Ron and Harry described it." There was a crunch underfoot as she took a step. They both avoided looking down at whatever it was.

Their shadows spread monstrous on the walls, little spiders had built webs now that the basilisk was dead, but that only added to the creepy, almost dangerous air. Draco studied some of the snake-motifs beneath the slime and mold and algae. Some were eerily similar to designs in his common room, his old dormroom, but somehow more sinister.

But far above him, the sound of the lake rushing by seemed to echo down to them, and if he closed his eyes he was a first-year back in his dorm...

"Draco?"

He opened his eyes. "Sorry, coming." He walked next to her, looking around, feeling a strange sort of pain, longing, to be so much younger...When everything was easier and black-and-white... Maybe that black-and-white hadn't been as good as shades of grey, and the simple things had only been simple because of how small the world had been for him, but...

He wanted to box away the feeling, but couldn't. He'd hidden so many of them in the last few years, he wasn't sure there was room to store another. He suppressed it instead, lessened the pain.

They cleared their way through a cave-in, vanishing or shifting stone, Draco still noticing all those little designs. Looking at the gate, he paused, looked at the many metal snakes that made the lock, and conjured the snake again. The room was pitch dark for a moment as they heard it hiss. Vanishing the snake again, he lit his wand.

One by one, they pulled their heads back, the tumbler dropping with a thud, the circular door creaking open.

He wasn't sure why, but he took Hermione's hand as he led the way inside, and then stopped.

It was sinister, beautiful, elegant. The pathway, lined with the great snake heads, mouths open to strike, jewel eyes. The carvings in the floor tiles, the designs that wove up the walls. He raised his hand high, the light from his wand shining out over the room, adding to the green light that came from the water lining the path.

At the end of the path was a statue, a giant head, sunken cheeks and closed eyes, the mouth open to show a doorway.

He walked to the path edge and looked into the water. Beyond his reflection, he saw the snake's body sliding far down into the depths, how designs continued...

Draco sank onto his knees as he finally realized. He was here. The Chamber of Secrets, the ambition of any young Slytherin to find...

It was somehow overwhelming... He had stood in grander, seen handsomer, and yet...

"Draco?" Hermione touched his shoulder, kneeling. The loneliness he'd been pushing away suddenly filled him, tugging other emotions and memories with it from their places. He tried to put them back, but he couldn't and his throat closed. He choked and sobbed.

It was embarrassing, but tears started couldn't be stopped. Hermione kindly left him alone. He didn't move. Memories flashed by, unconnected: his father, when he first heard the legend, the awe of first entering Hogwarts, his mother, second year, and then Voldemort, declaring he must make up for his father's mistakes. The pain, the cutting and scarring of his wrist to mark him as one of their Lord's own. Dumbledore falling, finding that wretched cabinet.

He looked at his wrist. He would be lying to say that it hadn't hurt since running away, but he had stopped paying attention to it. Right now it ached dully.

Draco felt empty. Looking at the mark, he could suddenly consciously see, how wrong he'd been, how he'd been lied to, all those things that contradicted all his new knowledge.

His entire childhood was forfeit, like another life. The emptiness soothed, washing like water the spaces loneliness had rubbed raw.

Draco took a deep breath. Emotional torrents weren't like him. Slowly standing up, he found that Hermione had moved away, giving him space. He quickly wiped his eyes, walking to where she was loosening a fang (There was no way he was calling it a tooth) from a giant snake skull. It came free with a crack that echoed dangerously in the space. She looked up, wide-eyed, and then quickly fished out the cup from her purse. Draco, for reasons unknown to him, began pulling off as many fangs as possible.

They were smooth, with only the slightest tint of yellow, like aging ivory. He found if he twisted as he pulled they came free much more easily.

They were heavy, the ends were sharp. He conjured a cloth bag and put them inside, slipping it into Hermione's purse.

"Do you want to? Or-should I?" she asked hesitantly. Draco took the cup and held it on the floor, staring at the engraved badger in the metal. Hermione knelt next to him.

"For Harry," she whispered.

She brought the fang down with both hands through the engraving. It pierced the metal through both sides.

There was a scream, a death knell. An unearthly shriek as the water around them suddenly rose in a wave. Draco yanked Hermione to her feet, pelting for the exit, but the water was faster. It flattened them into the ground, the water rushed over them like it intended to drown them and crush them at the same time, the basilisk skeleton barely missed them, Draco thought he might have seen it shatter and scatter across the floor and down into the depths...

And then the water lowered again, and it was the two of them, soaking wet on the floor.

"The water was much lower once, the walkway floats," Draco said.

Hermione stared at him a moment. Then she laughed. "You look like a drowned rat!" she shrieked. Draco rolled his eyes.

"You look like a dead garden hedge. Or," a smirk, "a beaver."

"I feel more like a soaked otter. LOOK at me!" she said, gesturing. He followed it down to her shirt, plastered to her skin, bra completely visible, jeans tight across her legs. He licked his lips, watching her heave.

Then he kissed her, lips swiftly traveling across her jaw and down her neck, pausing to kiss right behind her ear and whisper, _"Please"_ to her sounds of protest.

He was quite aware that there were much more romantic places to try what he was doing, and definitely much more comfortable, but they had come to the sudden, shared realization that the horcruxes themselves could kill them, and in that case, Draco wanted to have her before that actually happened.

She made no more protests, helping him out of his clothes while he did hers, pressing openmouthed kisses along her skin, licking it. The tension built, lust and need.

And then they went at it, animalian noises escaping their throats from bodies tense and taut as piano wire, nothing but them and the conflicting sensations they caused each other.

After, still dragging in air like a drowning man, he nibbled at her ear. "So, about all this expounding on _Weasel's_ skill..."

She buried her face in his chest, mussed hair spreading like a cloak. "'M not comparing," she muttered. As far as Draco was concerned, that was an, _Alright, you win._

Struggling into their clothes, Hermione said, "You know we just desecrated an ancient magical site."

"It's only as old as the castle." He pulled on his shirt. "It's not much worse than if we'd done it in a broom cupboard upstairs, by all rights. Speaking of Hogwarts, do you still have your old uniforms?"

"One," she said, in a suspicious tone. "Why?"

"Because I want to take it off with my teeth." He raked his fingers through his hair, picking up his wand. Glancing at Hermione, he found she was stunned, and also flushing. "Problem?" He pulled her hair up into a bun and slipped his wand through it. Neither of them really needed it, after all, and it made her hair less... Messy.

"N-You didn't give me any hickeys, did you?" she asked, changing the subject. Standing behind her, Draco smirked.

"Well, right here..." He kissed a spot on her neck. "And here, and here, and-" he kissed places on her skin, nuzzling against her jaw. She shrieked with laughter.

Latching his teeth onto the edge of her jaw, he growled softly. "But really, there's only the one right here." He stroked the little, quickly forming, bruise.

"Draco!"

"Charms, Hermione. They were invented for a reason." He looked over his shoulder at the statue of Salazar Slytherin. Despite his eyes being closed, the founder of Slytherin house seemed to be glowering at Draco. "Let's go."

Taking her hand, he led her out.

* * *

As I said. Not a lemon.

You know you want to review :3


	7. Chapter 7

One would think the Ravenclaws would have a back-up plan considering any stranger could get into the tower with only a book of riddle answers or a philosopher.

They didn't. They expected a doorknocker to do all the guarding.

The space under the cloak was crowded, packed with Draco, Hermione and Lovegood, and Draco as the tallest was obliged to hunch. Well, forced was more like it. Stuck staring at Lovegood's blonde head, he suddenly realized that it was Malfoy blond. It was that platinum-are-you-sure-it-isn't-dye color, almost white, and exceedingly painful to stare at. He closed his eyes tight again, straining his ears for a sound of another person as Lovegood puzzled.

Thankfully, Lovegood finally figured out the answer to the riddle, ("A circle has no beginning." He could see the logic, but still. Stupid answer) saying it in that odd voice of hers, and the door unlocked. Pushing it open slightly, Hermione glanced at a map (How did it work? She said it showed where everyone was in Hogwarts...) and then nodded, and the three shuffled in.

Draco gave a groan as he was allowed to stand up straight again. Then he looked around.

The Ravenclaws had a good common room, he had to admit. It was airy, wide and tall windows, arched with little designs moving along them, window seats, silk curtains in their house colors. The room was circular, with strategic mirrors to add extra perceived room, a domed ceiling painted with stars, a midnight blue carpet. Tables and desks and chairs were scattered around, especially near bookshelves, large enough to attend to a dorm of the studious but not enough to make the space feel crowded. Even the fireplace continued the air-feel, large, darker colors, but from looks only small fires burnt in its depths, enough to make a warming charm productive.

A marble statue stared down at them. The woman was imposing, beautiful, with a smile that spoke more of her intelligence than anything she could have written. The diadem was carved as a delicate thing, a little dress-up tiara for princesses or weddings. He couldn't help thinking that was inaccurate, but then again, in his head all Ravenclaws were either a Lovegood (Insane in an oddly endearing way) or a McGonagall (Sensible; strict. Grey hair as soon as they can grow it), even if she was actually a Gryffindor. Either sorting pen, the diadem was either lacking fanciful, or too frilly.

Having made the decision to not trust the statue, he turned to Hermione, to find she was intently studying the diadem carving. He discovered since shagging her that he hated when anyone or thing besides himself received a stare from her, so Draco set about distracting her.

He played with her hair, finger winding and unwinding around the strands, breathing lightly on her neck, watching her attention waver from the conversation she was trying to have with Lovegood. He dodged her elbow just in time, dancing back. "Missed."

She whirled to give him an exasperated glare, only for them both to freeze at the sound of a voice.

"Students should be in classes-"

"What is-" the knocker began.

"Lemme in, you stupid-"

Draco grabbed the silvery material of the cloak near Lovegood's feet, settling around them in a whirl of fabric. His arms curled around the two girls, Hermione pressed against his shoulder and Lovegood clinging to him while he hunched over them. Breathing quickened among them, a moment's struggle to be silent as the squeaky sound of Professor Flitwick saying something slid through to them.

Oh, how Draco hated the Carrows. Thickheaded, cruel, laughing at the pain of all. They were not above torturing first-year Slytherins, cackling as they thrashed about on the floors and hurt themselves, saying they were toughening them for the Dark Lord...

Maybe they could excuse hurting the other Houses, or suspected Dumbledore's Army members, but not even Slytherins would excuse the pain of their own.

Alecto peered around dimly, footsteps heavy as she entered the room. Usually, she looked a bit more bright than that. When no one was in obvious sight, she began moving around, checking under objects-and hands suddenly darting out randomly as if to grab at flies. She was aware of invisibility cloaks, then.

Lips to Hermione's ear, he mouthed more than said, "Carefully..."

His arm tightened around Lovegood for a moment, fingertips pointing to the door. She seemed to get the message, and they slowly began to inch to it, taking a long path weaving among the furniture and still dodging Alecto.

"_Well in that case, when are you and Amycus expecting?"_

Draco kept Finnigan's vaguely humorous sentence in his mind as they very carefully eased around a chair. The Carrows had always been pureblood obsessees, the very dangerous practice of inbreeding prominent in their family. Even Malfoys would rather marry halfbloods than damage their line so. Knowing this information, those bravely and yet STUPIDLY timed words had always seemed much less amusing to him, because the Carrows would go that far.

But it had quite obviously bred all the grace out of them. Draco could hear her footsteps as she went sniffling around the dorms.

There was a scream. Draco paused, mouth dry. Eyes immediately going to a clock, he found himself counting the seconds as it continued, a raw sound that crackled in the air.

"Yer SICK, you say? Likely! Then why didn't you go to Pomfrey?"

And then another scream.

Ten... Eleven seconds... Twelve...

A sobbing wail and then the crashing sound of someone falling down the stairs. From the Ravenclaw boys dorm, a fifth-year fell onto the carpet, bleeding from the mouth and nose, flushed with illness. His eyes were rolling in his head. Hermione and Draco tightened their holds on Lovegood, just in case.

Alecto came down, leered at the boy and then exited, stepping much lighter with her sadistic happiness.

They carefully made their way around the furniture again, dropping the cloak at the boy's side.

"We can't take him," Draco said immediately. There was no room under the cloak, the angle of his ankle made it painfully obvious he could not walk and there was no telling what other injuries he could have. Luna tapped the boy's nose with an _"Epipsky."_

A sickening crunch realigned it. Hermione quickly muffled his cried, wiping the blood from his mouth and prying open the boy's jaw a little more.

"Draco, you're blocking the light," her voice was crisp and sharp-edged. She carefully fished around with a probing finger, pulling out a tiny shard of a tooth. Draco's eyes narrowed, but he took a step to the right and kneeled, summoning a slim couch pillow, transfiguring it just a little to slide it under the neck.

The girls were quick to make the Ravenclaw comfortable, Luna and Hermione trying a few more healing spells on minor wounds.

"We still can't take him," Draco repeated. Hermione flashed him a glare. "I know it goes against every drop of courage and chivalry you have left, but no. We need to leave, now, before anyone comes."

She glared again, a heated expression, but when he pulled the cloak around them again, she came silently. Quite frankly, that terrified him.

They almost ran in the effort to get to the location the door was today, on the sixth floor behind a tapestry of strange beings Lovegood called "high elves." They looked a lot more like a cross between muggle ideals of gods and goddess and their idea of faeries.

Without the stupid insect wings, of course.

The creatures looked up as the tapestry moved wildly as the three paced. The door appeared, and they very carefully slipped in, Draco finally tossing the cloak aside as the soothing feeling of the Room washed over them.

"Okay, so now we just need to find where the stupid tiara i-"

Hermione was still glaring, almost in tears, and yanked him into a corner. The room obligingly stretching to put a little extra space between them and the people milling around.

"I guessed you might be the jealous type, but deciding to leave someone practically dying because I look at them?" she snapped quietly. Draco blinked, trying to see the logic in what she was saying.

"J-You think I left him there because I was jealous," he parroted flatly.

"DO you have ANY compassion? You wanted us to leave him, bleeding from the mouth and nose, sick with a fever and a broken ankle-and that's just for starters! He could die! But I guess as long as I don't run off with him, you don't care, do you!"

"And I suppose we could have just floated him down the halls after us?" Draco snapped back.

"It's the Ravenclaw common room! They probably have half a bookshelf devoted to books on healing! It wouldn't have been that hard to look for a few, or accio them! Not like you were doing anything!"

"I-" Fuck, she had done it again, thrown her logic out and put him in a corner. "Can you stop assuming everything I do has some sort of selfish motive!"

"Why not? It's how you always acted before!" A tear in her eye. "I-I was actually starting to think you liked me, but then I remembered how you always were before...Teasing and insulting and-You always went on about how ugly I was, finding all those little... Details. How long until I find out this is just a sick joke-shag the hideous golden girl and break her when she finally starts developing feelings?"

Draco gaped, trying to figure out how they went from supposed jealousy to her insecurities.

"It's true, isn't it," she whispered, the tears she was doing so well at controlling beginning to slip down her cheeks.

Draco closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hermione, care to explain the sudden rush of confidence-killing?"

Stupid statement number one...

He almost rushed to explain himself. "You always seem much more sensible than this, and I use that term broadly since you also think dragon-riding is a good way to leave a bank. You're supposed to be the brightest witch of the age, but you believed the drivel that came out of my mouth? Of course I insulted you! You went completely against every ideal I grew up with-a muggleborn who was first in every class, which my father berated me over every holiday, superior to everyone in everything and even vaguely attractive from the right angles. I had to save face somehow, and insults are easy. Too easy, even."

He sighed, pushing long strands of hair out of his face and leaning against the wall a moment. "Look, it's not a joke. I'd never do that to anyone. I'm not going to lie and say it's love, I'm not noble enough to feel that any time in the next decade, but there's some sort of attraction..."

Lust was attraction, after all, and he'd proven he could get along with her outside of a bed quite well.

She sniffled a little, processing his words and probably very carefully analyzing them for a hidden meaning. He gave her space by pretending to be interested in the wall.

"One chance."

He could have snogged her, but this was not the crowd for it. He had to settle for a chaste hug, whispering, "Bathroom, three tomorrow morning, the far shower stall."

* * *

Ambiguous-ending chapter. I couldn't figure out an appropriate Hermione response (Slap, snog, overenthusiastic nodding?), so imagine whatever you think is right. :P

Yeah, I know, cop-out chapter ending. Review and complain or something, or tell me what you're imagining. And you stalkers stop alerting without reviewing, it's not very nice.


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